


Hots for Hockey

by Pas_Cal



Series: Gallantry of Gilbert [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Humor, M/M, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 18:56:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10882923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pas_Cal/pseuds/Pas_Cal
Summary: Gil loves a lot of things about Matthew. His lovely violet blue eyes, the dimples when he smiles, the way he fucks him senseless after a victorious round of hockey. Really, it's just the little things he looks for. Honest.





	Hots for Hockey

Gilbert had noticed some interesting things about Matthew over the years.

The first of which was obvious: Matthew was an introvert. Sometimes it didn’t seem like it, but that was only because Gil was around to see Matt during his down time. At work? He was timid and professional; perhaps spoke a little softer than he should have and did just about anything to avoid any sort of confrontation necessary. He was a pacifist by nature.

But that didn’t mean Matthew was the type to surrender on everything. Gilbert had on more than one occasion seen Matthew lose his temper. It was a terrifying thing, to say the least. They got in squabbles at home, too; sometimes over the silliest things like whose laundry day it was supposed to be and “Gil, I told you to put the cookies up or Kuma would get into them!”

Some days Matthew liked to just take a quiet day in. Relax on the couch. Read a book. Sleep in. It was comical, sometimes, how much Matt fit into the “college boy” stereotype. Physically, he only looked to be around 19—something Gil tried _very hard_  to forget—and came off as boyish and young. On off days he’d loaf around the house in his PJ’s, hair still a tousled mess and glasses left on the night stand regardless of how much he had to squint to see things.

Matthew was notorious for hitting the snooze button no less than four times before he woke up, whereas Gilbert was already out of bed and dressed by the time the sun came up—or 6 o’clock during the winter months when the big glowing orb in the sky liked to hide beneath the horizon.

He liked his coffee black. His bacon drizzled in syrup. His eggs sunny side up on a slice of wheat toast. And of course, pancakes; also drizzled in the finest maple syrup his nation had to offer. Gilbert had once made fun of how much he spent on the “good stuff”, only to have Matthew turn it around on him and remind Gilbert of just how much he’d wasted on “stuffed animals” and how the poor man couldn’t say no to anything remotely cute.

“Yao conned you into buying stuffed pandas.”

“Okay, you know what? It was worth it. They were cute.”

“You pawned ‘em off to Roderich later that same day.”

He had a weakness. Gilbert couldn’t help it. It was the same reason he wasn’t allowed to go to the dog shelter. He once tried to adopt every single one of them until Matthew hurriedly shut him down.

Gilbert had sulked the rest of the day.

Matthew could be decidedly stern when he needed to be. It was the only way he was ever able to deal with his brother growing up—and remained to that very day, the only person able to put Alfred in his place. He was quiet, but when he was upset, _you knew_ , and it was _absolutely emotionally devastating_ because somehow, someway, Matthew pulled off the “I’m disappointed in you” cliché _perfectly_.

Matthew claimed it was because he was a people-watcher and knew how to hit the right nerve.

Gilbert remained convinced Matthew had made a deal with the devil at one point and was just refusing to admit it. It was probably in the contract.

What Gilbert loved about Matthew the most, though? Okay, maybe not _the_ most, but it was in his top five things he loved about Matthew; along with his soft hair and beautiful, captivating violet blue eyes.

And the dimples. The dimples were definitely on the list.

He decided to simply put this quality of Matthew’s under a particular blanket term, because if he had to list every specific thing that followed, the list would get rather extensive.

One word: Hockey.

Hockey nights at home were okay. They celebrated it much like American’s did their football. It meant beer and cheese dip and more beer until Matthew was sufficiently drunk and couldn’t even tell the teams apart. He’d start rooting by color, or whichever one had the funniest sounding name on the team. Matthew always got worked up, but ultimately ended up passed out afterwards and spectacularly hung over the next mornings.

Not to be rude, but hungover Matthew was kind of a dick. But then again, who wasn’t when their head felt like it was being repeatedly hammered with an icepick?

Now, the nights when Matthew was out on the ice? Those were the nights Gilbert looked forward to the most. Gilbert had _thought_ he loved football—sorry, _soccer_ —but he was proved dreadfully wrong when Matthew took him to his first game.

Watching it on TV was one thing. But up in the stands with a rink-side view? Nothing could beat that. Matthew was a whole other person out on that ice and Gilbert was always fascinated and hopelessly enamored with it.

He was headstrong. He was fearless. He was more than ready to jump into a fight when he thought the referee was being a dickless pissfuck—Matthew’s words, not his.

Some games were lost, and that was okay. By the time he was showered and changed, he was a little less pissed off and more than ready to go home where Gilbert would…help him take the edge off.

The nights they won?

The nights Matthew scored the winning goal and brought his team to victory?

Those were the nights Gilbert looked forward to the most.

Pumped up on adrenaline and still high from the victory, Matthew was absolutely buzzing and ready to celebrate.

And that usually involved making an utter mess out of Gilbert.

“Jesus, fuck! _Fuck_!”

Gilbert slammed his head back against the lockers quite a bit harder than he intended. It didn’t seem to faze him much either way. His attention was focused elsewhere. On a lot of things.

Like Matthew pushing Gilbert’s jeans down, hands slipping under the fabric to splay his fingers over his ass. He pulled Gilbert’s hips forward, grinding against him shamelessly. Gilbert tried desperately to get even a single coherent thought through his head, but there were teeth on his neck and a throbbing _problem_ that was begging to be attended to.

What he _did_ think to do was grasp for purchase on anything he could. The lockers proved fruitless, but Matthew’s hair made for a nice anchor. Bonus: He could drag Matthew back in for a desperate kiss. It was a little clumsy and frantic, but Gil wasn’t about to complain as long as Matthew kept doing that _thing_ with his tongue.

Clothes weren’t really paid much attention to. For the most part they stayed on, except for two vital things: Pants, and underwear. Both of which actually ended up just sagged around their thighs because neither of them cared to go through the effort of struggling to get them off. They’d tried before. It had ended very badly.

Gilbert desperately ground his hips back against Matthew’s, letting out a muffled groan into their heady kiss. He could feel the swell of Matt’s arousal pressing against him and it was absolutely maddening to still have fabric between them. The kiss broke rather abruptly, but only long enough for Matthew to hoist Gilbert’s legs up around his waist, dragging Gil’s pants down further so could get to what he wanted.

Matthew wasn’t in so much of a hurry that he was going to fuck Gilbert without prepping him first. Even he wasn’t that careless. Gil, on the other hand, was wondering if it was truly necessary at that point.

“God _damn_ it, Matt, I swear to God—”

“I’m _working_ on it.” Matthew ground out shortly, voice just as hoarse and strained as Gilbert’s. It took a bit of adjusting; hooking one of Gilbert’s legs over the bend of his arm. He paused only long enough to press his fingers to Gilbert’s lips. Gil let out a frustrated huff before taking the digits in, making sure they had a healthy coat of saliva before Matthew continued.

Gilbert jolted when the first finger slid in. He tensed at first—he _always_ did—before relaxing once more to let Matthew do his work.

As far as Gilbert was concerned, it took much too long. By the time Matthew decided it was good enough, Gilbert felt like he was going to burst.

And Matt, the god damn _bastard_ that he was, milked him for it.

“How bad do you want it?”

“Fucking _shit_ , don’t you dare—”

“Tell me.” Matthew leaned in, lips parted to drag his teeth over the skin of Gilbert’s throat. His tongue darted briefly over the marks he left behind.

“Matt—!”

“Gilbert.”

God, he loved it when Matthew got like this. Fierce. Commanding. The look Matthew gave him was almost _lethal_ and yet it was such a fucking _turn-on_. It didn’t make it any easier on his pride, however, no matter how much he loved Matthew-with-an-attitude.

Of course, the impatient press of Matthew’s hips, the feel of Matthew’s cock brushing against his thigh—so close but not fucking close _enough—_ was enough to make him cave. Gilbert almost ducked his head down before he said it, but he knew better. Matthew would get it out of him one way or another.

“How bad do you want it?” Matthew asked again, piecing violet blue gaze held with Gilbert’s. “Tell me.”

Gilbert dragged in a ragged breath, brows furrowing. “Bad,” he said, voice cracking, “really bad.”

“Go on.” Matthew hummed, reaching down to ready himself. Gilbert could feel the pressure of Matt’s arousal pressed against him, but Matthew held back from going any further.

He wanted to scream.

“So, _so_ bad,” Gilbert felt like he was breaking, “God, Matthew, _please_.” If he didn’t get some sort of _something_ going, he was going to die; he was convinced of it. “Please, _please_ ,” he gasped, “ _fuck_ me already, or I swear to God—!”

Matthew breathed out sharply, satisfied. Not a moment later and Gilbert got exactly what he wanted. In one swift movement, Matthew slipped the head of his cock in, and promptly thrusted in until he was the equivalent of balls deep. Gilbert’s toes curled, mouth falling open in shock at first, until he adjusted to the girth and absolutely _reveled_ in it. It was like a weight lifted off his shoulders finally having Matthew inside him.

And it was all uphill from there.

Hockey nights were a fucking _godsend_. It was the only night Matthew came completely out of his shell and showed his true colors. A fierce, commanding, selfish side that took exactly what he wanted. And in that moment, he wanted Gilbert. He wanted Gilbert reduced to nothing more than a mess in his arms, covered in love bites and bruises from where he gripped too hard. Absolutely ruined.

Gilbert didn’t mind one bit. It was exactly what he hoped for. It was a side of Matthew no one else got to see and it thrilled him beyond anything. The stark difference between the soft-spoken Matthew everyone else dealt with and the one ramming into him heedlessly in that moment was…

Well, in Gilbert’s own words, it was awesome.

Any other time and Gil would do his best to stifle whatever noises threatened to burst from his lips, but not this time. When Matthew hit that _perfect_ spot, he shamelessly tossed his head back and groaned. It was an endless stream of curses and praises, of Gilbert turning Matthew’s name over on his tongue countless times, each one adding fuel to the fire.

Matthew fucked him senseless on hockey nights. He made an absolute mess out of him. Bites, bruises, scratches. He pumped his fist around Gilbert’s throbbing length until he came between them, only to have Matt slam him against the lockers a few short moments later when he reached his peak too; buried to the hilt with no space between them.

Gilbert struggled to catch his breath, fingers still fisted In Matthew’s hair and shirt, but head tilted back to rest against the locker behind him. Matthew had his face buried in Gilbert’s neck, taking slow, steady breaths as he gradually came down from the high of climax.

“Matt…?”

“Mm?”

Gilbert shifted slightly, pulling Matt’s face toward his. The piercing look from before had abated quite a bit, but the hooded eyes and sated expression was still something else. Gilbert leaned in to kiss him, much more earnestly this time. Slow, easy, soft; a stark contrast from the hasty, brutal ones from just moments before. Matthew breathed out a sigh against Gilbert’s lips, slowly relaxing his hold on him.

“Better?” Gil gave a crooked smile when Matthew, for the briefest of moments, looked _embarrassed._ Matthew gave a mute nod, finally seeming to catch his breath.

“Think you can stand?”

“Maybe.” A pause. “Maybe not. Are my toes supposed to tingle?”

Matthew laughed softly, pressing his face into Gilbert’s neck. “Idiot.”

“You love me.” Gilbert hummed.

“Somebody has to.”

“Ass.”


End file.
